


the rest is just our epilogue

by chancellor_valdez



Series: dead, lovely things [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, its just cute you know?, when your boyfriend comes back from the dead and now you have to tell everybody about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:40:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chancellor_valdez/pseuds/chancellor_valdez
Summary: So, Theon is alive again, which is great, and they’re really fucking happy, which is even better.Now, Sansa just has to figure out how to tell her entire family that the boy they all grew up with and spent the past six months mourning the loss of, is in fact no longer dead, but alive and well and currently living in her apartment.And that she’s in love with him.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Series: dead, lovely things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626532
Comments: 5
Kudos: 150





	the rest is just our epilogue

All things considered, Sansa might say her life is pretty fucking great at the moment. Pardon her language. 

Maybe even the best it’s been in a while. 

Theon is, once again, alive. Which is good. And now they’re dating, or whatever, and he can actually touch her, among other things. Which is even better.

There is, however, the slight issue of the fact that, while he is now alive, he was dead for the six or so months before that. Being someone that has seen ghosts pretty regularly for over half her life, combined with the whole ‘I lived with one of them for half a year and then somehow ended up falling in love with him’ ordeal, Sansa is taking it all pretty well.

If she’s being honest, the fact that she’s dating Theon is way more shocking to her than the fact that two days ago he was very dead.

He’s adjusting to his return to life like a real champ. He’s only walked into the counter or the edge of the couch a handful of times, forgetting the fact that he’s now solid. Mostly he just sits very close to her and smiles and absently touches her as much as he can.

They still don’t know how it happened, you know how he went from dead body, to spiritual entity back to living person. Thinking about it just gives her a massive headache and she’d really rather focus on touching him than lose her mind trying to figure out how she’s able to do it. Maybe that’s the romantic in her. 

So they haven’t left the apartment in three days, which neither of them is complaining about, but it is becoming increasingly clear that at some point there needs to be a story and that story is going to have to make a little bit of sense and they’re going to have to tell it to tell her entire family.

_Fun._

Now they just have to figure out the best way to tell, basically everyone, that Theon, the boy they all grew up with, the one that died tragically and they all mourned for several long months, is not actually dead. He is very much alive (again?) and now living with her.

Oh, and they are also dating. 

This should go exactly as planned.  
.

.

.

As it turns out, Jon is the first to find out, and not because they tell him.

No, Jon is the first to find out because he’s a good person and shows up to the apartment to check on her given that, yeah, no one has seen or heard from her in two to four days and they’re getting worried. 

Also, being Jon, this means he just walks right on into the apartment, without knocking or waiting for a response.

This is how he comes to find Sansa sitting on the couch that mild Saturday morning, and a very alive Theon playing with her hair.

They all freeze, all three of them.

Theon’s hands pause halfway through what should be a braid. Sansa’s eyes threaten to bulge out of her head.

Jon looks like, well he looks like he’s seeing a ghost. His eyes swing from Sansa, slowly to Theon.

“What the fuck?” he whispers.

When no one answers, he says it again, only louder and with a healthy dose of panic in his tone.

Sansa moves. 

“Okay, okay. Chill out. This is all very easily explained… okay, well not easily, but this can all be explained. Kind of. I swear.”

Damage control. Good.

“Sansa, what the fUCK?!” 

He looks like he might throw up, or pass out, or something.

“Yeah, okay, this might all be a little shocking-”

“A little SHOCKING? A LITTLE?” he asks. Great, yeah, now he’s panicking. He points over her shoulder, to where Theon is still frozen and blinking on the couch. “He’s dead! Sansa, he’s supposed to be dead. There was a funeral and… and…”

“Breathe, Jon. Just breathe,” she tries to calm him. It is very much not working. “Let’s just calm down, and hey maybe take a seat, just focus on the breathing.”

She leads him to the armchair in the corner, helps him sit down. He’s shaking. He might be having a panic attack, she’s not sure. She doesn’t think she’s ever actually seen Jon panic before. He puts his head between his legs for a breath, then two. 

She rubs his back. “There you go.”

When he looks up, he pins her with a serious expression. “Explain this. Now.”

“Right…” she sighs and looks at Theon. “Well…”

They tell him what they plan to tell everyone else, which is a very small portion of the truth. Some in depth bullshit about mistaken identity and a different body and a minor case of memory loss. Generally speaking, it’s not the worst story, and Jon isn’t the most intuitive person to begin with so she thinks he buys it. 

It doesn’t hurt that Theon is actually present and a more creative liar on his feet.

When they’re done reliving the whole fictional experience, Jon looks like he might throw up again. His mouth is tense and small. His eyes are hard, if not a little far away. His skin is incredibly close to being straight up green.

Then, they tell him they’re dating.

.

.

.

“I think that went well,” Sansa finally fucking breathes three hours later when Jon is gone.

“Well he didn’t hit me so, it went better than I expected,” Theon says, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and giving her a light squeeze. “You think he bought it?”

“Yeah. That or he thinks I helped fake your death in an elaborate scheme to eventually run away together and leave our boring lives behind.” She pats his hand and smiles at him. She still can’t get over the tiny fact that she can touch him now. She can feel him. It will always feel new.

“He’ll be back in an hour to rescue you from my clutches for sure. We better enjoy what little time we have left,” he says quietly into her hair before pressing a small kiss where his lips are. 

She turns in his arms to hug him. She relishes every small contact she has with him. She can imagine them becoming that annoying fucking couple that’s always holding hands or finding ways to casually press against each other whenever they can. She can’t wait.

His fingers trail up and down the track of her spine, leaving stars sewn between each vertebrae. 

“But I guess if anyone’s gonna believe it, it would be Jon…” 

She smacks his shoulder (even though, yes, that’s completely true) and feels him laugh under her cheek. He pulls her closer. 

This is the only place she wants to be for the rest of her life, in his arms. Nothing else feels this _right._ She presses her face into his neck.

“Now we tell everyone else.”

.

.

.

She tells Arya, well... she tells Arya the truth.

It’s partially because she thinks, out of all her siblings, Arya’s the one that can handle it. She’s the one least likely to freak out or call a psychologist if her sister shows up to her door with a dead boy talking about ghosts. 

And then it’s also partially because she feels like she kinda owes her an explanation, a little bit. When you show up to your sister’s house at 2am sobbing and screaming nonsense about that estranged family friend that died, maybe she deserves to know why. 

She makes Theon hide in the car. 

Starting things off with him immediately present had not worked out that well last time and she really wants to ease Arya into it. To minimize the chances of a breakdown. 

She starts from the beginning, from the pond, through the ghosts, to Theon. She explains the death through the years and she describes the cold feeling she gets in her finger tips. How she loved a dead boy and brought him back. At some point she starts crying a little bit. 

The tears taste oddly like relief.

Her sister takes it all in stride, just like she expected she would. Arya doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t even change her facial expression until the story is done. 

“You’re being serious?” she asks evenly. 

“Yes.”

“You’re really not fucking fucking with me?”

“Arya, I swear to God.”

Her sister looks at her for a long moment, studying her face, and then she nods. “Okay.”

That’s it. A thousand pounds of weight lifts from her chest. 

“Is he in the car?”

Sansa nods.

“Bring him in.”

And so she retrieves him from the car, her hands shaking for absolutely no reason. He looks at her with questions in his eyes. _Did you tell her? Did she believe you?_

She squeezes his hand in the doorway. 

“You motherfucker,” Arya opens the door in a rush.

And then she’s hugging him. 

Her short arms wrap around his middle with surprising force, almost knocking him backwards. He blinks at Sansa in surprise, but she only smiles at him. He hugs her back, hesitantly at first, and then tighter.

When Arya finally lets go, she doesn’t wipe at her eyes because she doesn’t cry, but she does sniff just a little. 

“Nice tattoo,” Theon smirks, glancing down at the tentacles wrapped around her arm. 

“Oh fuck you. You’re not even fucking dead anymore, prick.”

She flips him off. 

.

.

.

Arya laughs over the neck of her beer, trying not to shoot half of it out her nose. 

“I’m surprised he didn’t shit his pants. Honestly, I am,” Theon chuckles. 

Arya had made them stay for drinks, but they really didn’t argue with her too much. Now it’s an hour later and they’re bubbling with laughter and crooked smiles, recounting Jon’s exact facial expression as they told him the (fake) story.

“I’m surprised he didn’t throw up,” Sansa says as she leans into Theon just a little bit more. His fingers are absently playing with the edge of her sleeve. “He looked fucking sick.”

“What I wouldn’t give to have photographic evidence of that face. Holy shit,” Arya sighs. 

This all feels achingly normal. 

Totally perfect. 

She smiles into her vodka cranberry (heavy on the vodka) and taps her hand against the outside of his knee. 

“How’d you get him to not say anything? Oh my god, he’s probably losing his mind right now,” Arya cackles. It comes from the very back of her throat like a wolf.

“He gave us 24 hours to tell you and the boys before he has a public meltdown and tells you himself,” Theon sighs. 

“You should probably call him, actually,” Sansa adds. “So he can unload his emotions on someone else.”

“Later,” she dismisses. “So, what’s it like being dead?”

When Theon gets up to use the bathroom, her sister grabs her hand in a way that’s surprisingly gentle for her. She squeezes her fingers. “Holy fucking shit, Sans.”

“I know,” she sighs. “It’s a lot to process. It’s just a lot in general actually, but I swear it’s true-”

“I believe you,” she assures with a soft smile. So very un-Arya-like in the lightness of it all. It warms her ribs one by one.

Or maybe that’s the alcohol.

“You’re really happy, huh?” 

She grins, she can’t help it. He brings a certain happiness to her that she didn’t think she’d feel for a really long time. She still doesn’t believe it sometimes, but she always feels it. 

“Yeah, I think I am.”

“And with _Theon_ ,” Arya smirks, pulling a slight face before looking away. 

They both dissolve into another fit of laughter. They can hardly breathe with it, howling even harder when Theon returns and gives them a hard look. 

It all feels so good. She is free of secrets and she is loved and she is surrounded by people that make sure she knows it and it all just feels so new, in the best way. She smiles at her sister with warm cheeks and leans her head of Theon’s bony shoulder. 

Good.

When Gendry comes home an hour early, he sees them and _he_ does faint.

.

.

.

They tell Bran and Rickon at the same time. It feels easier that way.

It’s the same story as Jon, same story as everyone else that’s not Arya, same logical go-around to prevent their heads from imploding. She’s pretty certain they’re going to be a lot harder to convince (Bran especially). 

They kind of nod and squint at her critically. Until she brings Theon around the corner.

Then it all seems to snap into focus.

Rickon screams something garbled that could be a ‘what the fuck’ and almost falls backwards out of his chair. Bran blinks wide eyes that, if Sansa looks hard enough, don’t really look as surprised as she would have expected. 

The youngest boy calls him an asshole as he claps him on the back in an aggressive hug. Bran remains too calm, but squeezes his upper arm when Rickon finally lets him go. 

It takes several minutes of breathing and unnecessary touching to settle back down, and then they listen to her intently. She goes through the scripted lie again. She gestures to her ‘returned from the dead, never actually died’ boyfriend. They watch her carefully with narrowed eyes. Or Bran does at least. She thinks Rickon might still be a little bit in shock.

“So you, ‘came back from the dead’, so to speak, and the first thing you did was what? Ask my sister out?” Bran asks.

“We didn’t say that,” Sansa assures, suspicion poisoning her tone. They hadn’t gotten to that part yet. Sure, it was true, but how did he already know that?

“You guys are literally holding hands right now and you keep smiling at him every thirty seconds,” Rickon says dully. Okay, so maybe he was paying more attention than she thought. 

She looks down at their linked hands. 

“I am supporting him.”

“Hmm…” Bran winks, fucking _winks_ , at her and what the fuck is he getting at today? She never fucking knows what her brother means. He could be high off his ass right now and none of it could really mean anything.

She narrows her eyes at him.

“Yeah, whatever. I love her,” Theon sighs. Her heart does a little tap dance. “Almost dying puts a lot of things in perspective, I guess.”

It’s a smooth lie because it’s not really a lie after all. She squeezes his fingers. 

“So you guys are gonna be all gross and shit now?” Rickon asks.

“Of course,” Theon says.

“Absolutely,” she deadpans at the same time. 

“Disgusting.”

.

.

.

“I’m telling you, he was being very weird? You didn’t notice him being very weird?”

“It’s Bran, I just assume he’s always being _very weird_ ,” Theon sighs, throwing his arm over his eyes. 

Sansa continues pacing around the bed. 

“No, this was different. He kept winking at me and like smirking and stuff. The whole time! He just found out you weren’t dead and he was extremely cavalier about it.”

“Babe, I think you’re just freaking out.”

She smiles at the use of ‘babe’. Her stomach does little cartwheels in her belly at the fondness in his tone. She really likes being his.

She scowls, “Hey don’t try to distract me by being sweet. I’m serious here. He looked very... knowing.”

Theon groans and sits up in the bed, swinging his legs over the side in her direction. “He was probably just fucking stoned. Hey, stop it.”

He grabs her hand and she reluctantly lets him pull her toward him, stepping between his knees. He cups the side of her jaw with one hand. Long, calloused fingers warm against her skin. 

“Listen, everything is fine. You’re just being paranoid, I promise. Your brother was being a normal level of weird tonight.”

She huffs. She’s sure something was off about Bran. There was just something in his eyes like he knew more than he was letting on. But then she thinks about what Theon’s trying to say and, yeah, it’s Bran. And okay, his default is usually to act like he knows more than everyone around him anyway, so… he could have a point.

“Hey,” Theon says. His voice sounds like wind chimes. “Did you know I love you?”

She smiles. It’s a special kind of smile, one only he can put there. Brighter than her others, and softer around the eyes. Just for him. Because she loves him so much. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers. 

She really needs to kiss him.

He tastes like toothpaste, spearmint, and a little bit like chapstick. He smiles into her, both of their mouths unable to stop themselves from grinning. He pulls her closer by her hips and a shiver travels up her spine and back down again. He sets her every nerve ending on fire.

“You’re trying to distract me,” she mumbles against him. 

He pulls back only enough to grin lazily at her. “Is it working?”

“Maybe,” she hums, running her thumb along his lower lip. 

He touches her waist and she follows him down.

.

.

.

Looking back, telling the older, meaner Greyjoy that her little brother wasn’t actually dead over a phone call was maybe not their best idea. 

In their own defense, she was across the country for the next month and they really did not want her to find out by turning on the news and seeing Theon’s face next to headlines claiming “Miracle boy! Local man back from the dead!” or some fucking stupid shit like that. Because eventually they are going to have to tell the world _something_ , he is legally fucking dead after all. 

And, well, fine… it was still a terrible idea. 

She yells at Theon for about an hour. Sansa just sits there and watches him from across the room with wide eyes. He flinches a few times, mostly he nods solemnly to himself. Then at the very end of it, she tells him she’ll be there in four days and he better not die again before she gets there or she’ll be really fucking pissed. 

He smiles, thank fuck.

Sansa warms a little when she hears the soft, but gruff ‘love you’ from the other end of the line and notices Theon’s eyes are a little wet in the corners. 

.

.

.

Unfortunately, Margaery does find out over the news. 

To be honest, Sansa was avoiding having to tell her as long as she could simply because she was not mentally prepared to deal with her reaction. Because this was Margaery, she always had a reaction. 

So the pounding at their door at six in the morning, is really her own fault at this point. She opens the door to see an angry Margaery holding up a wrinkled newspaper with Theon’s face on the front of it. She couldn’t hide from her best friend forever. 

“Oh,” she says.

“Yeah! Fucking ‘oh’!” she screeches, shoving her own way into the apartment. She throws her hands violently into the air as she speaks. “You just neglected to tell me, your best friend, that Greyjoy shit-for-brains rose from the fucking ocean, alive and well? You just forgot to slip that little nugget of information to me? I had to read it in the newspaper, Sansa.”

“Margaery-”

“Just the absolute deceit, babes. I thought we were friends!”

“Ohmyfuckinggod, we are friends.”

“Then why-”

Of course, this is the exact, perfect, moment that Theon decides to stumble out of her bedroom, in only his sweatpants.

“What’s going…” he trails off as his eyes focus on Margaery. She’s pretty fucking sure she can hear him swallow from across the room.

“Oh for fuck’s sake! You’re fucking him too?” The brunette throws her head back and Sansa rubs at her temples. It’s too early for this. “He’s alive and you’re fucking and you didn’t tell me either of these things.”

“He’s just staying here, Marg. He was dead remember, he doesn’t have a house or literally any belongings.”

“And he has to sleep shirtless in your bedroom too?” 

They both wilt silently under her stare. 

“Yeah, alright. I need a fucking drink.”

“It’s 6am, Marg…”

“I need a fucking drink and then you two are going to tell me everything.” She points threateningly between the two of them. Sansa thinks she might feel actual fear. 

“There’s wine in the fridge,” Theon offers, quietly.

By the time they’ve told Margaery the cliff note’s version of ‘everything’, there’s an empty bottle of wine on the table and Theon has put on a shirt.

.

.

.

“You’re going tomorrow?” Arya asks.

Sansa nods into her drink. She’s not exactly dreading it. Dread would be too harsh of a word. She just feels anxious and she can’t figure out why.

“You can come by after, if you need to.” 

“Thanks,” she smiles at her sister gratefully as a thin arm wraps around her waist from behind. Theon kisses her cheek. 

The bar is relatively empty for a Saturday night, but she’s glad for it. This is the first time they’ve really been out in public since, what they have now deemed, The Resurrection. He thinks it’s ironic and she just likes to indulge him. 

His fingers run absently along her side and she tries not to squirm. 

“Jon’s very drunk. Did you know he thinks I’m a good guy?” He grins cheekily at her and she pinches his his. “There was a very touching monologue.”

“I’m sure there was,” she sighs. She can only imagine. Lately, drunk Jon had meant emotional Jon. No one really knew why except for Bran who just kept saying something about him ‘really working on himself’. Whatever that meant. 

“I think there were almost tears,” he hums. 

Arya rolls her eyes. 

The bar is warm; she can feel the sweat on her neck, dipping between her shoulders. Her hair tickles at her temples and licks her collarbone. Her body is full of hot air (and several shots). Everything is light and she is weightless in it. She doesn’t even notice the dead woman in the second booth or the man by the restrooms. She can’t feel the cold in her fingertips.

She’s too happy and for once the world feels like it’s being kind.

The ghosts are only shadows and she leans into her boyfriend’s side. She likes her life now, it finally feels like hers.

Her sister hops off to find Gendry eventually, muttering something about a game of pool.

Theon spins her in his arms as soon as she walks away, kissing her lightly on the lips. She sways. Ugh, she fucking swoons. She’s breathless at the thought of him. The music pulls quietly at her bones and soothes her like a lullaby. 

“Dance with me?” she asks sweetly.

“Of course,” he smirks, taking her hand and pulling her away from her seat and ever closer to him.

She’ll never quite understand why his body fits so perfectly against hers or how something just clicks tightly inside them. How they can fold themselves together and meet at every seam. They work. 

They move slowly together, his hand on her waist, her head on his shoulder. It’s only them, only him and her and the warmth they’ve buried in each others chests, deep down. It’s a perfect piece of a perfect moment. 

He kisses her hair.

She loves him completely.

.

.

.

They go to the cemetery together.

It feels stupid at first and then it feels scary. She spends the whole morning and half of the ride there silently freaking out and then overanalyzing every micro-emotion she feels. It’s unnecessary and it’s obsessive and she should really not think about it, but she’s Sansa and her brain doesn’t work that way.

But then they step in front of the tombstone and Theon takes her hand and she knows it’s not stupid and it’s not scary. It’s right. 

She squeezes his fingers. She can feel his knuckles pop, but he doesn’t say anything. 

They tell Robb everything. 

More than they told Jon, more than Margaery, even more than they told Arya. They tell him all of it and end with them. With how they found it, and how it saved him, both of them really. 

They talk about how he would hate it if he was there. How grossly affectionate they are and how overprotective and grumpy he would be about it. But how he would have gotten it, eventually. They tell him that they’re happy and that things are good. 

They tell him how much they miss him. 

After that, Theon asks for a minute alone and she kisses his forehead before she walks to the car. He needs this, she knows. She’ll let him have it. 

She sits and watches him from the passenger seat for a few minutes. She can’t hear him, she doesn’t need to. 

When he comes back to the car, his eyes are red, but he still smiles at her. She leans over the center console to kiss him slowly. It warms them both. It stamps ‘I love you’s’ into their palms like small pressed flowers. 

“I’m so lucky,” he sighs, smiling at her. 

They both are. They’re so fucking lucky. She feels like crying, but not from sadness. No, not sad tears, happy tears. Content tears. The kind of tears you cry when you love someone so much you don’t even know how to quantify it. 

Her grin is blinding.

She holds his face in her hands, feels his sharp cheeks beneath her fingers. He is so precious to her. Like glass. Like gold. 

Their fingers weave together perfectly and she whispers, just loud enough for him to hear. “This is the happy ending.”

And she’s right.


End file.
